Clay woke very early, with that anxious feeling you have when you don’t remember ever falling asleep. Sitting up in his bunk, he gazed at the clouds of vog that were drifting by his cabin.
Sleep had done nothing to illuminate the mystery of Price’s memoir.
Who had left it on his pillow? he wondered again. Was this unknown person trying to help him, or was he trying to make Clay feel even crazier?
Clay leaned over his bunk.
“Jonah!” he whispered. “Tell me the truth—were you really sleeping last night?”
“Huh? What? I’m still sleeping now.”
“What about the line from The Tempest?”
“The line from what?” asked Jonah, sitting up.
“You were reciting Shakespeare in your sleep. Or your pretend sleep.”
Jonah scratched his head. “Shakespeare? I think you have me confused with Caliban.” He pointed at the tater-bot, which was sitting motionless next to Pablo’s bed. No longer made up as a ghost girl, the tater-bot had a new potato head and a painted-on mustache that looked suspiciously like Buzz’s.
“Oh, come on. I read Price’s journal,” said Clay. “About the kids at the reform school. And the boys that just happen to be exactly like you guys. Including the sleepwalker. It’s like they might as well have just named him Jonah.”
“Dude, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Jonah grumpily. “Or why you had to wake me up.”
“I’m telling you, it’s all in the journal!”
“What journal? Show me—”
Clay hesitated for a moment, then thought, why not? There was nothing to lose. Maybe the sight of the journal would get Jonah to fess up and tell him what the heck was happening. On the other hand, maybe Jonah was telling the truth, and he was an unwitting participant in whatever it was that was taking place. In that case, the journal was about to open Jonah’s eyes.
“Okay, I’ll show you,” said Clay.
But when he reached under his pillow for the journal, he couldn’t find anything; the journal was gone!
“What are you guys going on about?” asked their counselor, climbing out of his bunk. “What time is it?”
“I dunno… early,” said Clay, frantically feeling around his sleeping bag.
One thing was certain: He had to find the journal and return it to the library as soon as possible. The last thing he needed was for Uncle Ben to come roaring through camp, accusing him of robbery.
When Clay realized the journal had been stolen out from under him, a certain person came instantly to mind—a certain thief-type person—but he didn’t see her until well after breakfast.
Clay was in the barnyard, feeding the llamas, when Leira walked by in her newsboy cap and suspenders. He dropped a bale of hay to the ground, tossed a carrot top to Como, and ran up to the edge of the split-wood rail that kept the llamas from running away—most of the time.